


Plaster

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Depression, Destiel - Freeform, F/F, F/M, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Self Harm, Twincest, no but like seriously lots of twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is not happy. He is not content. He is not sad, nor angry nor bitter about the things that have been done to him. He is not regretful or afraid or depressed.</p><p>He is nothing at all.</p><p>ABANDONED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS FIC HAS BEEN PERMANENTLY ABANDONED
> 
> to be honest, this is not even close to a work I am happy with, and I would delete it except I am strongly against deleting fic you've written just because you no longer like it/like it being associated with you when it's such a poor sample of your work. which this is. it's truly terrible, in my mind. and i'm really sorry for it. anyways if you still want to read I hope you enjoy it!

Sometimes, when the house was empty and the silence deafening, Castiel would turn on his laptop, curl up on his side, and lose himself in fiction and french music that bounced meaninglessly off his comprehension as pretty noise. He'd always been good with languages, could pick French up fairly rapidly, but he didn't because that would take away the soothing babble of nonsense words. He'd always been good with languages, English included, but sometimes he imagined that the seeping blackness in his veins would pour through his fingertips and into the keys and into the minds of anyone who read his writing. 

He never let anyone read his work, he knew it was irrational but – but just in case. 

When night came and even Gabriel was asleep, Castiel would stare at the ceiling and look for patterns in the spackle. When the pull became too strong, he fetched a marker and drew on his skin until it was a mess of writhing black lines. He felt good then. Symmetrical. 

When that wasn't enough, he capped the marker and placed it back into his nightstand. He hesitated, always hesitated, always ran the lines of bullshit through his head _you're sinning your body is a temple your body hosts the holy ghost and Jesus Christ if you hurt yourself you are hurting_ God, _Castiel_. 

He hopes that if Jesus really is perching inside of Castiel's rotting heart, He'll understand.

He strokes the switchblade hesitantly at first, listening to the quiet clack as he opens and closes it. He runs a thumb ever so carefully along the edge, picks off dried flakes of blood until the void inside him is too great and he needs something to fill it _anything_ to distract him and tether him to this body. So he cuts. Light, stinging lines that will be gone before the sunrise. Deeper lines this time, but still minor – a scratch, he assures himself. Nothing to be upset over. And then it isn't enough and he needs to _know_ , needs to know that the black of the void hasn't begun shooting through his veins yet and he slices harder _harder harder harder_ to watch the red flow. 

It's at this time that he muses that they never do get the color of fresh blood right in the movies. 

*_*

Castiel wears a hoodie and when he can't take the heat anymore he peels off a few layers to reveal layered t-shirts and elbow length gloves.

He hears the whispers. The other kids think that he's the resident goth, that he's 'emo', that he's secretly an advanced android – one of the first sent out by the government to monitor civilian activity.

Well, that was actually Ash's idea and while others had laughed it off he just narrowed his eyes and muttered something about investigating. 

Castiel thinks that if he was a spy, he would be a good one. He can become invisible, fade into the backdrop of any situation. Even when eyes scan the room for other present parties, they slide over Cas. He's just a piece of the scenery, window dressing on their lives. Not a person, not a human being, not even a sentient _creature_. 

He's fine with being alone. When people talk to him he freezes up anyways, tucks his arms defensively around his stomach, curls in on himself, runs twitching fingers over leather studded knuckles. He's afraid, afraid that they will see the hole and tear it wider and wider until he stops breathing from the numbness and apathy. Terrified that it will spread and so he stares at them helplessly, silently, gaping and trying his hardest not to blink so he can make sure the corruption doesn't infect them too.

Tight pants and multiple layers help. The pants make him feel contained, safe, every centimeter of skin encased and accounted for. The multiple layers take away the chill that never seems to leave and protect him from the stares he gets when they're shed. 

_“He's so_ thin.” _The girl whispered, looking half pitying and half horrified. He knew her name because he knew everyone's name, hoards details of their lives greedily to examine when the void calls. But this is one detail he does not want, so he puts the association firmly out of his mind. It does not work, and that night when the blade digs in he hears Joanna Beth Harvelle's voice._

If he could call anyone a friend, he'd say that Anna came the closest. His older sister, who nursed him through the hurt and betrayal and confusion at being sent away. She rocked him as his frame was wracked with sobs, explaining quietly that it wasn't his fault, _never_ his fault, her precious Cassie. 

He understands now that this is the house where the bad children go, the children that his father has no patience for, no love. Lucifer was the first sent away, and then Gabriel and then Anna and Castiel. Anna tells him that it's not his fault, never his fault, but he watched Samandriel taken, saw his twin ripped from his arms. He was dumped unceremoniously on the front lawn a month from that day, body filthy in ways no five year old should be.

Sometimes he thinks about Samandriel, because something sparks inside and he can feel for a moment and it's _agony_ but it's _something_. Then it will go away even as he chases it, and he finds himself stranded in the center of the void. 

He has stopped chasing.This is his life, and he is not happy. He is not content. He is not sad, nor angry nor bitter about the things that have been done to him. He is not regretful or afraid or depressed.

He is nothing at all.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel makes his sister cry, gets drunk, and has his first kiss.
> 
> Not necessarily in that order.

Dean Winchester is an asshole. I can tell before I see his face.

I'd overslept and usually I'd just stay home, but Lucifer doesn't understand how fucking scary it is to walk into class _late_. How that's worse than not going at all. Because even though I have mastered the art of fading into the background, that is incredibly difficult to do when the background consists of a whiteboard and snarky teacher. 

The reason Lucifer doesn't understand is because I've never said it out loud. Never had to actually, Anna and Gabriel just... knew. So they'd see me asleep, kiss my forehead gently, and tiptoe back out of the room.

Lucifer just drags the covers off me and says if I'm not puking or running over a 100, then I'm getting the fuck out of bed and to school. 

I check in at the office, cringing at the sympathetic smile Missouri gives me. As the person who picks up the phones and takes sick notes, etc, she knows far too much about my personal life and doctor appointments and hospitalizations. Though if I had to choose one of the staff to know that much – I'd choose her. There's something reassuring about her presence, the way she seems so tuned into what students need – a shoulder to cry on, a kick in the ass, a good book and some companionable silence. 

Oh, she's also the nurse. Small schools and all.

I shove my coat in my locker, steel myself with a not-really-that-soothing breath, and open the door to my sixth period (art). 

And no one looks at me. No one looks up to the front of the class to stare, because they're already looking. With relief, I see that they're not looking at me – but at – at.

Oh, Lord have mercy on my soul.

I haven't seen his face – he's turned around to talk to the teacher – but I've never seen someone so absolutely perfect. He's certainly no one that I've seen around here before. I spend so much time just people watching at school that I can recognize any high school student from nearly any angle, from just their footsteps or the sound of their voice at the edge of my hearing. 

Even if I wasn't that familiar with the student population, I would know him. He's gorgeous, jeans fitting just right over bowed legs that I could write fucking _sonnets_ on, plaid shirt that's definitely layered over something else but not able to hide the lean muscle underneath. I've never really felt sexual attraction to someone, never really looked at someone with more than a cold interest – observing a fine piece of art and storing the details away for future reference. 

But _him_. I would do anything he asked me to – well, up to misdemeanors and possibly minor felonies. 

And then he speaks and I feel weak in the knees until the words and tone themselves filter past the fog clouding my mind.

I don't catch exactly what he's saying, but he's being sarcastic and difficult and generally unpleasant. And that is when I know he's an asshole, because no person in their right mind could ever talk to Anna like that. Not to my Anna, with her red hair and gentle big blue eyes and paint stained clothes and graceful movements.

I _stalk_ over to my sister, and it's a minor shock because I don't believe I've ever stalked in my life and I'm _feeling_ , pushing myself between them under the pretense of handing my homework from yesterday and late note over. Anna takes them with an understanding smile and gentle squeeze of my hand. I smile back at her, her eyes widening and mouth falling open in a little 'o' because she probably can't remember the last time I smiled. 

To be fair, I can't either.

I turn, filled with that righteous, _beautiful_ anger, and I want to scream at him for _daring_ to so much as look fucking _sideways_ at my sister – but then Anna would be obligated to give me detention or something equally ridiculous when I hang out with her while she's doing detention anyways. 

I glare at him, at his fucking _perfect_ face, and horribly _lovely_ green eyes and _adorable_ freckles and the flat bridge of his nose where it had been broken – _good_ I think viciously – and oh God but _those lips_ that I refuse to let dull my fury. I look at his unbelievably handsome profile and smooth tanned skin and _hate_. 

It feels so good I don't ever want to let go.

Then he smirks at me – fucking _smirks_ and that _doesn't_ make my stomach flip with anything but fury it _doesn't_ – and holds out a hand to introduce himself. 

“Dean Winchester.” He says, and it's so fucking cocky, so fucking sure that I'll _worship_ him that I throw up a little into my mouth because I would have if I'd met him anywhere but right here, right now, giving my sister shit. 

I smirk back, an expression that feels as foreign on my face as it does right, and take his hand. “Castiel Milton.”

Then I squeeze so hard that the bones in his hand grind together and he lets out a little hiss of pain. I really hope I broke something, and release my grip knowing that tonight I'll dream of callused fingers (and those lips, _God_ , those _lips_ ) and won't be able to do a fucking thing about it. 

I bump shoulders with Anna as I go to my seat, trying to ignore the little frown of worry between her eyebrows and focusing on the familiarity of the touch. I've been in the class she teaches since I had to pick between woodshop and art in the fifth grade, and it's the best part of my day. Watching her face light up as she teaches, her soft corrections and benevolent smiles as she guides her students.

I slump into the chair, closing my eyes for a long second before glancing up at the whiteboard. Dean is partially blocking the view, and I give him the cursory objective assessment that I should have earlier. He's trying to come off as self assured and confident, but underneath the thin mask of asshole he's nervous. No, not nervous, I note absently. Anxious. His eyes flick to the door as he heads towards his seat, but not like he wants to escape. No, like there's something he's worried about, somewhere else he wants to-

Wait half a fucking millisecond, why is he sliding in the chair across from me?

With dawning horror, I remember that my table is the only one with room for another person. I'd gotten so used to sharing it with Gilda (in love with Charlie Bradbury, both of them too shy to say anything, I'd been planning to get them together for some time now) that I'd forgotten we even had a third space.

A third space that was now filled by Dean Winchester and he's fucking quirking his eyebrow at me _what do I do distraction needed_. 

I turn to Gilda so quickly the bones in my back crack – _fuck now everyone's looking_ – and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Charlie is really a rather wonderful girl, but if you don't ask her out soon I think my head is going to explode from residual sexual tension. You two are very obviously in love with each other, and I heard her complaining at length about her lack of courage to Ash who really just wanted to eat her nachos.” I swallow convulsively, because I hadn't meant to _do that_. “Um. Anyways, what are we working on?” 

Gilda, still shell shocked because I've said a total of _maybe_ 14 words to her in three years, pointed numbly at her paper. Chalk, and I sighed because I loved working with it but it would get all over everything unless I stripped down to my t-shirt. My mind pushes everything away that's just happened and focuses. 

I get up to grab paper and some supplies from the closet, snagging a smock on the way out. I arranged the stuff on the table before unzipping my hoodie (the Eeyore one Gabriel had got as a joke for christmas but that I adored anyways), stripped out of the two unbuttoned long sleeve shirts, and tugged off my gloves. I felt naked without my layers, only a t-shirt and arm warmers protecting me from the world. 

I sat down, pulled the top off the box of chalks and felt stupid when I reached for my pencil only to slam my hand into Dean's. I pulled my hand away like it **burned** , _(which it did don't think about it don't think about it)_ , fingers curling away and into my palm reflexively. I didn't look up to see what his reaction would be, just focused on grabbing the pencil without making contact again. 

I stared down at the paper blankly, unable to remember why I'd taken my pencil in the first place. I let out a frustrated breath – _frustrated_ – and reached a hand up to rub away the beginnings of a tension headache. It seemed to work, but now my entire body itched to be stretched. I gave the chalks one more glance and complied. 

I arched my back and listened to the cracks with a faint sense of approval before rolling my neck. I threaded my fingers together and reached towards the ceiling, straining my legs straight, curling toes and basically pulling my entire body taut before allowing it to relax again.

Satisfied, I slouched back down and reached for the red chalk.

When I drew, I went away inside my head. My body worked as my mind fell into a sort of trance, concentrating on letting the poison crawl through my fingers and onto the paper. I had to be more careful in school though, had to trash more than one picture when I came back to myself and saw that what I'd drawn was enough to get me at the very _least_ suspended. I was careful to keep my drawings more abstract, if still horrific, after the gore that spread onto the page that day. 

I know Anna saw it, overheard her crying as she showed Gabriel what she'd seen me throw out _(reckless stupid should have waited don't let her know I know)._

That night the void won.

-_-

The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully. Dean Winchester had somehow ended up in nearly every one of my classes, and once it occurred to me I couldn't rid myself of the nagging suspicion it was Missouri's fault. She was the one who would have set up his classes, after all.

The only class he wasn't in wasn't even a proper class, really, not something you got credits for even. It was after school, when Mr. Singer would teach a variety of things to interested parties (namely, me and Charlie). He didn't really teach much during the week besides auto shop, and the after school class was more assignments of homework and reading. It wasn't even on school property – it was based out of his auto shop and we'd sit on beanbags and work on clipboards while he scrawled on a blackboard that was usually used for announcements to his employees.

It was the weekend when he truly taught.

I was in several of his 'classes'. I studied ancient mythology from different countries, learned to read Latin and ancient Greek and old English and archaic Japanese. I learned about ways that monsters could be killed, learned exorcisms and protection symbols and traditions. It always came back to old myths, to the monsters of the night. I loved it, loved every second of it.

I tried not to think about how some of the monsters sounded incredibly familiar, chalked it up to reading and movies and too much time on the internet even though I knew it had nothing to do with that and far more with where Samandriel and I had been taken.

Today's lesson was short. He gave a gruff explanation about how the shop was backed up on orders and pressed books into my arms with a Post-it note on each cover saying what to read and orders to pass half of them on to Charlie. I walked back to the curb somewhat confused, because he was never too busy to teach us, always made a moment to give a passionate lecture and call us idjits when we answered a question wrong.

I paused there, foot raised to step on the road, just now realizing that I had to talk to Charlie.

I knew where she was, of course. Her habits were easily observed if you paid attention – by now she would be shoving things in her backpack and sprinting to catch a ride with Jo from Ellen, cheeks flushed and out of breath. She'd still be huffing when she settled into the backseat, flopped dramatically before Ellen barked for her to put on a seatbelt. She'd comply and that's as far as my knowledge went.

She'd have run from robotics club, and once at Bobby's it would take her a moment to switch gears from math and technology to myths and literature.

I sat down on the curb and laid my hoodie out on the sidewalk so I could set the books down. Some of them were old, very old, but all well used and well loved. I could see where they'd been restored and rebound, and it was hard to miss the ducktape holding together a Latin tome. Digging through my second overshirt's pocket, I came up with a snickers bar – bless Gabriel's addiction – and my iPhone. 

There was a text from Anna that I must not have heard. _Cassie I cant pick you up from bobbys I got stuck on detention. Gabriel will get you but he may be late he's out with kali again._

I snorted and put on _Hear This_. I hadn't finished Dan Cummin's albums, but so far I was fairly certain that he needed to never meet Gabriel. Not even a little bit. They would both go to jail after a series of increasingly illegal pranks. I trusted Gabriel to clean up any evidence, but after his last stunt he wasn't getting community service again. Though I was unsure what prison would be capable of handling him.

I was halfway through the snickers bar when Ellen's car pulled up. Charlie started to leave the van, but I sprinted over before she could shut the door. 

“Wait! Bobby canceled, said he's too busy.” I gestured back towards my little haven of books, comedy and candy bars. “He gave us some reading, though.”

Charlie nodded cheerfully and Ellen made a disgruntled comment that I couldn't quite hear but assumed meant she'd wait.

“So where's your ride, Castiel?” Charlie asked as she walked beside me. 

“I don't have one, there were - unforeseen problems.” Also, Gabriel is incredibly unreliable normally and if he's with Kali it's doubtful he'll do anything productive until their next spat.

Charlie punched me in the arm, face accusing and I cringed at the contact and at what was coming next. “Why didn't you say so right away! You're coming with us, I live right next door anyways.”

I frowned, but began collecting my things anyway. “Charlie, I'm not so-”

“Shut up. You're taking the ride, then you're coming over and you're gonna interact with humans whether you want to or not.” Her face was stern, and even as I started to protest she cut me off. “I swear to Odin, I will tell about the time you punched Lillith's face in.”

I went white(r), because no matter the circumstances, none of my family would be pleased to hear I'd broken a girl's nose. “I'll go.”

Charlie broke into a grin and pecked my cheek affectionately before sliding into the car. We'd somehow gotten there while she was blackmailing me, and before I was really aware of what was happening I was buckled in and heading to Charlie's house.

-_-

When Charlie said that I had to hang out with her, I assumed she meant herself and maybe a couple of her friends.

I didn't think she meant a full on party. 

Of course, it was only 4 when I got to her house. I'd actually enjoyed myself, talking about the books and listening to exclamations about my ignorance of pop culture. The internet was my best friend, but I mostly used it to torrent books, music, and comedy. 

_Enjoyed myself._ I was feeling so much today it was nearly overwhelming. Everything was novel and loved, and I hated Dean Winchester, _hated_ him, but I couldn't help but feel a little grateful. 

I was _feeling_ again.

By five Charlie was feeding me, and by six she was putting in the first Harry Potter movie (horrified that I'd never read the books or seen the movies, incredibly indignant when I pointed out that it was children's fiction). I found myself engrossed in the story, actually laughing _(laughing)_ at one point. 

By the time Charlie put in the second movie, people were starting to appear. I was so focused on the characters that I didn't notice I was inching closer to the screen as the house got louder, as music blasted through the air. 

I didn't notice there was a party happening around me until Charlie positioned herself between me and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. 

“Cas-tee-elll,” she whined and I could smell the liquor on her breath as she attempted to pronounce my name. “Come play truth or dare with us!”

I barely had time to think oh shit before I was being dragged off to a circle of tipsy-to-drunk teenagers. I was sat down between a slightly tipsy Pam and an absolutely smashed Garth (who was for some inexplicable reason wearing only jeans and a winnie the pooh sock).

“Okay Cas-Cast-Castee-” Charlie chokes over my name, and I take pity on her.

“Just call me Cassie, Charlie.”

Charlie finds that very funny for some reason and laughs herself silly while Pamela explains the game to me. “Castiel, the rules are simple. Someone will pick you and say truth or dare. If you pick truth then you have to drink a shot, and if you pick dare and chicken out and say truth you have to drink a shot and remove an item of clothing. If you decide to do a dare instead of truth, the entire circle gets to pick a dare with the original asker being the tie breaker plus you do two shots and take off a piece of clothing. If you do dare then there are no penalties.” Pamela pats my arm in a soothing manner, and I didn't realize how much I needed the calming touch until it was gone. She's exceedingly sober for the game that's being played, and I'm somewhat impressed. Tonight will yield plenty of interesting things to consider.

“Cassie, truth or dare!” Charlie crows, and I note with amusement that she's missing quite a few key items of clothing. Gilda is not so subtly checking her out, arm wrapped around Charlie's waist in a pretense of keeping the redhead upright.

God, they were so clueless it almost physically pained me to watch. 

“Truth.” I respond, because I need to get a feel for how this game is being played and alcohol didn't do much to me anyways. Something about having a fast metabolism and drinking lots of water.

The group collectively groaned, muttering to themselves about wimps. 

Charlie, on the other hand, looked positively _evil_. I felt a twinge of something that may have been fear. “When was the first time you watched porn?”

I cringe, because the answer is embarrassing and far too personal. I would rather do a dare then sit here and explain why I was borderline addicted to pornography as a seven year old child. 

“Dare.” 

Charlie's eyebrows quirk up at that, because it seems like an easy question. The group starts shouting out suggestions for a dare, and finally Charlie settles on what's probably the most sane one. “Cassie, you will make out with Meg!”

I huff a breath, because this is ridiculous and incredibly cliched. I allow Meg to crawl in my lap anyways. She's beautiful, dark haired with the thorned stem of a rose wrapping around her neck to blossom just below the short hairs on the back of her head. It's a gorgeous tattoo, and the smell of cigarette smoke that coats her is reassuring. 

She leans down, eyes closed and focused on her task. I keep mine open, trying to remember how to kiss from books and half-remembered fanfictions. 

Meg's lips press to mine, and it's frankly rather disappointing. I close my eyes and part my mouth a little, inviting her tongue in because that's what you were supposed to do, right? That sparks something, and a small surprised noise forces its way out before Meg swallows it. Her tongue curls up and across the roof of my mouth and it should feel disgusting but I arch into the sensation. I'm doing my best to reciprocate, and can tell from the nearly imperceptible jerks of her hips that I must be doing something correctly.

“Okay, break it up, no having sex in my living room guys!” Charlie forcibly pulls us apart and I remember that I need oxygen to live. Charlie leans in to whisper a question to me as Meg untangles herself _(when had my hand twisted itself into her hair?)_ : “You doing okay?”

I actually laugh and toss my hoodie onto the stack of clothing in the middle of the circle. “Yes, Charlie, I am fine.”

Pam hands me two shots and I down them with a grimace. They taste god awful. 

“Your turn, Castiel.” Pam reminds me and when I look at her I know that we're going to get along well. 

I turn forwards to stare directly at Gilda. “Gilda, truth or dare?”

-_-

It takes a while for the circle to come back to me. We've lost and added members since I've arrived – two of whom being Gilda and Charlie, off having sex together or something – and when called upon it's by Jo.

“Truth or dare, Castiel?” She's still fairly sober and can handle my name okay. Everyone else has been calling me Cassie, a somewhat disturbing experience because whenever I hear it I'm expecting an older sibling.

“Truth.” I examine the fraying hem of my topmost layer, having already planned how this would go. I wanted to get hammered, and it wasn't going to happen unless I kept getting the worst penalties.

“When did you lose your virginity?”

Shit, they couldn't stay away from delicate topics with a fucking road map. “Dare.”

Jo snorts and when I glance up she's looking at me like she _knows_ but it would be really weird if she did, so maybe she just knows my devious plan for getting drunk. “I dare you to show us the most embarrassing thing your brother has ever posted of you online.”

Pam is already sliding me the shots as I peel off a shoe. I take them gratefully and down them as I find the youtube video. 

“I realize that this is a pointless demand, but no laughing.” I push the phone to the center of the circle and they crowd around it as I press play.

It's hilarious to see the variety of reactions. There's Jo, who looks strangely triumphant. Ash, who watches with horror and a scientific sort of interest. Pamela, who is snickering helplesssly. Garth, who is just sort of drooling and barely conscious on Meg's shoulder. Meg, who is glancing speculatively from the video to me.

It's not my fault that Gabriel decided we were to all (all referring to all family members willing to endure it) learn and perform the dance routine to White. It's sort of my fault that Gabriel became obsessed with the damn movie in the first place, and possibly my fault that it was put on Youtube. If uploading the video and posting it on Gabriel's facebook wall with tags to anyone who he was remotely fond of could afford any kind of reasonable doubt as to my guilt.

I didn't care that I was _in_ the said video. I danced well when I stepped out of my head and let my body take over. Gabriel danced... well, he was enthusiastic. He threw his all into it, and that sort of helped when he ignored the routine and just started doing the hokey pokey. Anna was beautiful, graceful as always. She had done ballet, once upon a time, moments captured in photographs stuffed under her mattress.

The song ended, and the video a handful of moments afterwards. The circle stared down at the phone for another long pause before raising dumbfounded eyes at me. 

“I would like to be inebriated for this conversation,” I said, breaking the silence. “Dare me?”

-_-

The game had devolved from less truth or dare and more to 'see how much crazy shit Castiel will do if we ask him'.

I was drunk, or close enough, head buzzing and body warm. My mind was clean for once, no voices nagging at me and I was completely entirely _here._ The void was just a burned out hole in my stomach and throat, one I fought to fill with the breathless laughter of those around me.

“Holy shit, man.” Ash was gasping for breath. I'd just finished confusing the hell out of people I barely recognized through the happy fog of my mind. The dare had been to beg people to help me find my voice, because you see I'd _lost_ it. 

It was rather fun. I'd frantically gripped the shoulders of one poor, unsuspecting individual after another, staring into their eyes with my most desperate, panicked expression. _Please, you don't understand!_ I'd half yelled directly into their face. _The fate of all unicorns depend on it!_

I'd sat down after people started asking me where they could get some of what I was on.

I accepted the shots from Pam almost lazily, body loose and happy as the alcohol slid down my throat. I took off my t-shirt and was left in my jeans and gloves. 

I was – I was so fucking _happy_. It was like I was soaking up the good mood from the people surrounding me. 

The second the t-shirt hit the floor, Charlie (her and Gilda had returned some time ago) peered intently at my back. 

“Woah, Cassie!” Her voice was stunned, almost reverent, and it took me a long second to figure out what she was so worked up about.

“Oh, my wings.” I said absently, stretching face down on the floor so they could gawk at them.

The tattoos really were beautiful. When I stretched the skin rippled underneath inked feathers, giving the illusion that they were a millisecond away from bursting into flight.

I arched my back now, because I wanted to show off and my bones felt itchy. I heard the click of a camera phone – someone taking pictures. 

“Holy fuck.”

Wait a second.

As I've said before, I know every voice in my high school, nearly every voice in the school. And while this one was – it was _familiar_ , it wasn't the sort of familiar that came from years of proximity.

It was more the kind of familiar that came from being the first person to make me _feel_ since I lost the ability. It was the kind of familiar that made me twist to my feet in a way that was probably _just_ this side of physically impossible. 

It was the kind of familiar that came from Dean Winchester's face.

“Hey there, angel.” Dean held up his hands in a general 'don't mind me I'm harmless' gesture as he took a slow step backwards. Probably wise. I was inebriated, impressively so, and his entire face was so lovely I wanted to destroy something.

He had no _right_. Absolutely _no right_ to come here and take away the numb coating that protected me from this world. _No right_ to make heat clench tight in the base of my gut when I _hated_ him. 

“You were a dick to my sister.” It was the first somewhat acceptable thing I could think to say. 

“Um.” Dean's face contorted into a stunning number of expressions for the small amount of time afforded, before settling on something that was probably supposed to be nonthreatening. 

Then there was a warm body attempting to mesh with mine starting from my left arm, and I looked over to tell them to get the hell off of me, but oh -

Oh _shit_. 

Anna's body was shaking with little, helpless sobs and I turned to pull her close, as close as I possibly could and then a little more. I pressed my face into the top of her head and made useless little shushing noises, guilt slamming through me so hard that it was difficult to find air. I could hear her, and that just made it worse, the muffled threats and exclamations of relief.

She'd thought I'd gone missing again, I gathered, and suddenly when I could feel that was just – it was just too _much_ – and I was crying into her hair and mouthing near silent apologies and _hating Dean Winchester_ because this was all his _fault_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'm still getting a hang of how this works. For the record, I have little to no idea what it's like being drunk so forgive any mistakes made.
> 
> This is the dance they did: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWJ96I0v43c It's quite a good horror movie, if you're interested.


	3. Chapter 3

“Goddamn kid is gonna be the death of me, Anna.” Gabriel flopped onto the couch easily, setting his head in Anna’s lap, eyes on the tv but not really watching. Anna hummed a quiet agreement, eyes dry and stinging.

“He was _crying_.” Gabriel turns his head and buries his face into the lemon and acrylic scent of his sister’s legs. “I can’t remember the last time I saw him cry.”

Anna says nothing, because they _both_ can. They just don’t want to think how the closest to shedding a tear in the past twelve years Castiel had come was the onset of allergies.

“Do you know what triggered him? Anna, he was saying things about – about _feeling_ and a _void_ and just -” Gabriel shook his head, or maybe his head shook as an extension of his body.

“I think-” her voice is hesitant, barely there. “Gabriel, I need you to not move from this couch until I tell you you can, okay?”

Gabe frowns, but he knows that this means there’s someone who started it. Someone who he can to torture to death or at the very least smite and his sister doesn’t want him to do it. Or at least not get caught for it. “Fine.”

“Swear to Odin?”

“Shuddup.” But now he’s smiling, just a little, because of how when Cassie talks now it’s always about mythology and shit and he once declared that Gabriel would be Loki and the joke’s never been dropped. “I promise.”

“Good.” Her approval hangs heavy in the air for a long moment, followed by a rush of air into her lungs, as if telling him as quickly as possible will prevent any felonies. “There was a new kid in my class today, Cassie came in late and he saw him and I don’t know – for a second there, I swear to God he looked like he saw the face of God. I mean, we always knew he didn’t really look at people like sexually, but it was like-”

“Love at first sight. Or first lust, at least.” Gabriel rolls flat on his back, because it’s really awkward trying to have a discussion while face down on your sister’s thighs. He’s smiling a tiny bit, because he remembers how that feels, remembers it every time he walks into a room with Kali.

“Yeah.” Anna’s smiling, twining fingers absently through Gabe’s hair. “But I could almost see it as reality started floating back in through his shock, you know? And the kid was being a smart ass to me, boy’s moved around a lot and had first day jitters, the usual. But Castiel – I’ve never seen him so…”

Anna doesn’t have the words for a moment and her brother waits patiently for her to collect them. “Gabriel, he looked like a warrior of _God_. I was half expecting the lights to flicker. He just freaking _stalked_ up to me, handed in his homework, and _smiled_.”

“Smiled.” Gabriel said flatly, because he really can’t remember the last time Castiel had smiled. He’d begun to suspect that his little bro had forgotten how.

“I know! Then he turns and introduces himself to Dean and he just looked so – so _vicious_. He shook his hand and I heard something crack, my hand to God. It was just so… so…”

“I think I understand a little better what he was talking about now.” Gabriel mutters. “He kept saying how he was feeling, didn’t like it, wanted the hole to go away and for the void to come back.”

“Oh, God.” Anna gasps out, hand flying from Gabe’s hair to her mouth, holding in sobs that she literally cannot provide the tears for. 

Gabriel evacuates his position immediately to wrap a soothing arm around her shoulder. “Shh, shh. It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s all gonna be okay.”

“What _happened?_ ” and her voice is choked, defeated, talking about too many things at once. Gabriel just presses her into his chest and makes noises he hopes are comforting.

She is the second sibling that cries themselves to sleep on him that night. When she is unconscious, Gabriel lowers her as carefully as he can onto the couch, draping an afghan over her before heading for the door.

Charlie has some questions to answer.

-_-

“Winchester, do not make me stop that pretty little mouth of yours from ever speaking again.” Charlie warns, and Dean winces away from the threat. He’s missed her, but he’s starting to be pretty sure he missed her so much he forgot what she was actually like. Forcing him to cut the bullshit and bizarre references and crude words that surrounded anything vaguely emotional he’d say.

“I’m just… what the hell even _happened?_ ”

The party is gone, and so is most of the mess. The sobbing art teacher seemed to take the kick out of things for most people, and the ones remaining were by and large unconscious.

“You fucking idiot!” and then he’s being slapped upside the head, repeatedly, and _God_ if Charlie wasn’t a girl he’d have decked her so fucking long ago.

Instead he just catches her wrists and glares until she gives in with an exasperated sigh. “Dean, that was Castiel Milton. He takes the classes Bobby set up _religiously,_ is fucking brilliant, has never worn less than four layers of shirts outside of art class and presumably the shower, hardly speaks, weighs less than a drowned rat, and as far as I can tell never felt anything before today.”

Dean just blinks, slowly, because he’s kind of an idiot and none of this seems relevant.

“And then today, you show up. If anything Gilda said is true – and trust me it is, oh my God I haven’t told you we had sex and Cassie was the one who set us up-”

“Charlie. On topic, please.”

“Fine. Anyways, so Gilda said he walked through the door _late_ and he is _never_ late. He sees you and she thought he was actually gonna faint, just totally brain dead and checking you out and I honest to Veritas thought he was asexual.”

Dean opens his mouth to make a vague noise of protest before Charlie gives him another of those glares and huh, yeah, he remembers this is the person who he freaked out over Skype to when he realized that he just possibly wasn’t one hundred percent into the ladies.

“So then his brain starts functioning and apparently you were being a smart ass to Anna – nice going Dean, she’s the coolest teacher I’ve ever met – and he shuts down again. Gilda thought he was gonna fucking _kill you_ and then possibly have sex with your corpse because he was still checking you out.”

“Yeah, I was there for that part-” his hand still fucking hurt _thankyouverymuch_ “-but that doesn’t tell me what the fuck I did to his sister.”

Charlie heaved out another breath, like Dean’s stupidity and inability to connect the dots in a social situation was literally _killing her_.

“Dean, Anna _is_ his older sister. When he’s around her or talking about her, it’s the closest I’ve seen him smile before he got drunk off his ass.”

And then it all sort of clicks for Dean, because if someone had been a dick to Sammy, it wouldn’t matter how hot they were because they’d be _dead_ before they saw him coming. And he really should have been able to figure this one out without help, because it was so goddamn _obvious_.

Charlie sees the total switch in his expression, notes how it goes from confused and somewhat hurt to really guilty and almost wistful. Oh yeah, he’d totally been thinking about hitting that.

“That still doesn’t explain the whole tearful hugging thing.”

Charlie really has no right to share this kind of information and really _shouldn’t_ anyways but – but it might actually help in this instance. She’s been hanging onto this too long, afraid of the consequences. And she’s still afraid, would have to be an idiot not to be, but… if there was even a chance-

“Fuck, I shouldn’t be saying this.” She hesitates a moment longer, glancing at the Hermione bobble head on her mantle for strength and guidance. “Dean, we need to go talk to Bobby. I have some stuff that… it might actually be up your guyses alley.”

-_-

Twenty minutes later Dean, Charlie and Bobby are set up in Bobby’s kitchen. They brought coffee and donuts to make up for waking him up, but it turned out that he was already awake and helping someone through a mental breakdown from… killing the tooth fairy.

What a fucking day.

The kitchen table is covered with Charlie’s laptop and various printouts of crime scene photos and case files that she shouldn’t have been able to get her hands on. They’re not only top secret, they’re the copies without all the sharpie and Dean has just stopped asking how she gets this shit.

“About twelve years ago, Castiel and his twin Samandriel were kidnapped from school. They were missing for a little over a month and Castiel appeared naked on his family’s lawn. He was bruised to hell, obviously molested, and covered in all kinds of weird ass scars. He’d also visibly grown, about a year or so.”

“What the _fuck_.”

Charlie shrugged helplessly in Dean’s direction. “You’re telling me. Police involvement was shockingly limited. From what I could gather, it was like they collected information, reported to someone, then were told to bugger the fuck off by men in suits.”

Dean took a long gulp of coffee, because maybe the caffeine would wake him up from the nightmare he’d fallen into. “What kind of monster we looking at?”

“That’s the problem! It doesn’t fucking match anything and I’ve _looked_.” Charlie closed her laptop – didn’t slam it because that was her baby, but close enough.

“I’ve looked all over the fucking place, and there are cases that have matched this stretching back to the dawn of freakin’ time. But no one is ever particularly motivated to find out what the cause is. They’ll start looking into it and then lose interest or just sort of…”

“Disappear?” And there’s Bobby, having finally assured the hunter that tooth fairies were nasty fuckers and _should_ be put down.

Charlie nodded and feels slightly guilty because she knows, knows what this has to be but saying it - sharing the information - it’s terrifying. And Bobby just gives her a tiny incline of his head, saying that he knows too. That this is something they really shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about.

Belief gives some things power, and this was one of them.

“Well, I can’t say I haven’t heard of it before.” Bobby looks – well, Dean isn’t sure how Bobby looks but it is making him extremely uncomfortable. Resigned? Is resigned the word?

“So, how do we find Salamander?” Dean’s voice is dry, exhausted, and done with everyone fucking knowing something he doesn’t.

“Samandriel, Dean.” Charlie mutters, but it’s quiet and half hearted.

“We don’t.” Bobby said, expression harsh and tone harsher still. “We don’t find the poor kid and neither of you breathe a word of this to Castiel. Boy’s managed to convince himself that what happened was made up, and that is the only thing that’s holdin’ his sanity together. You ever tell him and his brain will snap like a rubber band.”

Dean couldn’t - _what the fuck_. Just – this was _kids_. Bobby was a stubborn bastard, and doubly so if there were kids involved. No hunt was too dangerous, no odds too unlikely when there were children involved. That went for nearly any hunter.

“Charlie, I’ve never heard of them letting someone go. I assumed that Castiel’s situation was something a bit more normal.” Bobby leveled Charlie with the same kind of intensity that he’d use to get Dean to do the dishes.

Charlie nodded, because apparently this was making sense to her. “They were identical twins. I’ll see what I can do.”

“What? Just what!” Dean half yelled.

Charlie closed her eyes and she looked so young and tired right then that Dean wanted to take everything back. Wanted to take back being a dick to Anna today, take back talking to Castiel, take back going to her party.

“Dean, if they brought Castiel back, they may have brought back Samandriel too. If he’s anywhere with CCTV or internet access, I’ll find him. It just – it’ll just take a while.” Charlie opened her eyes and all but glared a hole through Dean’s head. “And Dean, you need to figure out why the hell you’re triggering Castiel.”

“Damn straight. Now what the fuck do you know about my little brothers I don’t?”

-_-

Three hours, two bags of skittles and five twixs later _(two for me none for you Winchester)_ Gabriel was brought up to speed. More information came out, like what Bobby and Charlie had been dancing around.

Mostly that Castiel had been taken to another plane of existence where time moved differently and your body clock was thrown off. When Gabriel asked if it was fairies (dead serious and Dean couldn’t believe this was his life), Charlie and Bobby exchanged meaningful looks. They explained that it wasn’t fairies, it was something much worse. Things that drifted at the edge of your mind and were formed of shadow, things that didn’t haunt places but people they’d taken a liking to. Things that couldn’t drive you insane, but could push you over the edge.

Things that didn’t like to be talked about.

“When they take people, it’s almost always twins or triplets or whatever and _always_ identical. The running theory is that. Well, this is gonna sound stupider than most of the shit you’ve already heard, but the theory is that these are humans who are literally one part of a whole.”

“You mean the, the creepy twin bonding thing, right?” Gabriel was absorbing this information, rolling with the punches. Then something not so nice occurred to him. “Holy shit, do you think they’d hit the same family more than once?”

“What do you mean?” Charlie said warily, her default tone around Gabriel.

“Charlie, the oldest kids in our family are twins. Michael and Lucifer – don’t make that face Winchester, I’ll rip it off – went missing for a couple of weeks when they were fourteen. Said they’d run away or some shit but I never bought it. Lucifer was different after that, Michael too. Michael became almost obsessive with following orders and Lucifer became even more obsessive with rejecting them.” Gabriel slumped in his seat a little, not even eating his candy anymore, just playing with it.

“I – it’s possible. We really don’t know much about these things, even though they’ve been around for-fucking-ever.”

Gabriel just noted the sentence, not caring who said it. His little bro – he’d known that some horrible shit had happened, known that it killed something inside of him. When Cassie and Samandriel were little kids, Anna would text him and Lucifer pictures. The two were always together, attached at the hip, always touching somehow. It was almost sickeningly adorable – Anna sent a video once of them _snoring in unison_. Then they’d been taken, and Zachariah – the asshole – had sent him away after spouting something about him being impure and things that Gabriel didn’t want to repeat even in his own thoughts. Anna had went with Cassie, called Lucifer crying and panicked and begging for a ride.

Needless to say, they came.

-_-

If you were in the room with Castiel, you would see nothing uncommon. His face is quiet, peaceful, breath steady and hands loosely clutching a ragged white tiger. It is his one possession from a different time, a comfort object held close and smelling of home and tears.

The other thing he has left isn't even properly his. It’s his brother’s, and Castiel stores it in the back of his closet. Sometimes he will pick it up carefully, trying not to contaminate the scent of tears different than his own, holding it close to his face and breathing so deeply he can close his eyes and imagine that the blood he smells isn't his own.

For now though, he merely shifts in his sleep, features restless and desperate for what haunts his dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “God – Dean, _please_ -” my voice is shaking, weak, tense with frustration.

_Drink down that gin and kerosene_

It burns, it burns, it  _burns_  but they don’t stop they just force it deeper. Deeper  _in_ , deeper  _down_ , always _further_  until every nerve is alight and I can’t tell if it hurts or if it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt-

_And come, spit off bridges with me_

The viscous fluid is acid in my throat but I swallow, swallow because to spit is an act of defiance and my organs repair themselves even as they liquefy because that’s what  _happens_ here-

_Just to keep us warm_

Samandriel and I huddle together, seeking comfort in the familiarity of skin on skin, pressing closer and closer until we can imagine we’re melded together. Pretend they can’t separate us like this, that it’s impossible, that there is no such thing as stone cold and marble skin, no such thing as sandpaper hands or living fire. There’s only us, only our dark cave of warmth and solitude-

_And light a match to leave me be_

They’re coming back, the lights are on – Samandriel! Samandriel, no don’t take him, take me, take me-

_Light a match to leave me be_

A scaled one with a lion’s head and an eagle’s wings regards me for a moment. It makes a noise that I have come to interpret as laughter, and gestures for the imps to grab me too – we’ll be together like this at least, I’m sorry Samandriel, I didn’t know -

-_-

I wake to complete darkness.

My lungs stop working for a moment, entire body tensing and that extra bit inside me  _(doesn’t exist what have they told you it’s your imagination)_ reaches for my twin before I’ve even decided to let it.

Of course, there is nothing. I am not back  _there,_  I just had the covers over my head.

When I untangle myself, I grab my phone off the nightstand and turn it on. The lock screen informs me that it’s 3:10 a.m. It’s Saturday, and I should really not fuck up my sleeping schedule this early into the weekend.

But my body is still thrumming with adrenaline from the dream and – shit.

_Damnit damnit damnit god damnit._

I’m hard, and I close my eyes, try to sleep, but it won’t come to me  _(ha, good one)._ I can’t decide if it’s from the dream or just one of the every ninety minutes of sleep ones. I shy away from the thought, and tell myself it was the second one,  _obviously_.

But it won’t go away, I’m sure as hell not getting back to sleep yet, and a cold shower sounds ridiculously unappealing.

I sigh and strip out of the clothes I’d fallen asleep in, body clammy with sweat and legs tingling after being released from their skinny jean prison.

Flopping back onto my mattress, I close my eyes, lick my palm, and try to just go away to that quiet place in my head.

But then I hiss in frustration, because my hand is moving over skin, and  _yes_ it feels good, but my brain won’t shut the fuck up. I want to just escape into the sensations but  _no_  because life fucking  _sucks_ and I’ve got a migraine that is doing anything  _besides_ killing the erection.

So I squeeze my eyes shut harder, hoping that I won’t have to resort to what I know I will. It’s only a moment before I give up the useless fight and then I’ve gone away in my head, but not to the quiet place. To a much  _better_ place.

He’s propped up on his elbows, face so close that we’re exchanging breaths. His eyes are wide, and really that isn’t  _fair_ considering I can’t even form coherent words. He’s having no problem though, line after line of beautiful filth falling out of his mouth and into mine.

“Can I fuck you?” he finally says and  _yes God yes_ and oh, I said that out loud but embarrassment can wait for when he’s not pulling back, tracing my lips with two fingers. “Get ‘em wet for me, baby.”

And it’s so stupid, because it’s not even a particularly sexy thing to say, but my mouth just pops open in a silent  _o_  at the half growled words. He shoves the fingers in, shuddering when I suck. I can see in his eyes that he’s not thinking of his  _fingers_ in his mouth, but he just pulls them out with an obscene  _pop_ and then -

_Yes._

It’s hard and fast and he’s up to the second knuckle on both fingers, and it  _hurts_ but it’s so  _fantastic_ I couldn’t complain even if I was capable of speech. As it is, there’s some kind of high pitched whine punching through me.

His fingers drive in and out, and I’m fucking myself down on his hand and saying nonsense things about how I wished they were something else then he crooks them  _just right_ and fucking  _commands_ -

“Come for me.”

“ _Dean.”_ and fuck, but even with my back arching and the best orgasm I’ve had in  _years_ I’ve still got enough brain cells to notice how  _awed,_ how  _reverent_  my voice sounds.

I grimace as soon as I regain full control of my facial muscles, another long moment before I can reach for a kleenex and squirt some hand sanitizer on my fingers.

I drop my arm over the side of the bed, hand searching the floor for the pajamas that I’d kicked there maybe two weeks ago. I find the pants, wriggle into them and decide that’s good enough. Riding the post orgasmic high, I sleep.

Just as predicted, I dream of callused fingers and brilliant green eyes.

-_-

If I thought the headache was bad last night I was an idiot, because  _this_ is bad. The light coming through slits in my curtains stabs through my skull, and I’m fairly certain that I should just kill myself because I’m gonna puke but I’m also  _starving_. Last night is a hazy blur, playing truth or dare being the last thing I remember.

Then my door slams open and  _God_ if I didn’t feel so awful I would fucking throw my knife through their _skull_.

“Rise and shine, little bro!”

“Don’t wanna shine.” I mumble into my pillow, taking deep and even breaths through my nose.

“Too bad. You’ve got visitors anyways, so up and at ‘em.” Gabriel’s voice is as obnoxious as ever, but I’ve learned to read the subtle cues that betray actual emotion. Also, that he didn’t wake me up with a bucket of cold water tells me just how sympathetic and concerned he is.

“ _Visitors?”_ I turn my head to squint at him, because that makes no sense. No one  _visits_ me.

Gabriel nods, all false cheer and suggestive leers. “Yup, it’s Charlie and a gigolo, twinky looking kid-”

“Gabriel, I am  _armed._ ” Comes a threatening voice from behind his shoulder, and I’m giggling despite the nausea that increases seven fold at that voice. Because seriously, I won’t even need to kill Dean Winchester, Gabriel will be more than happy to do it  _for_ me.

Gabriel scrunches his nose up and mutters something inaudible before strutting away. I grab an altoid off my nightstand to get rid of my morning breath, and pull my gloves on in quick, practiced motions. The basics done before someone can barge into my room, I pull myself upright and stretch.

Dean walks in just as I’m cracking my back, and the look on his face – well, if I didn’t hate him so much and have a complete lack of faith in my ability to read other human beings, I would make him fuck me right now.

Alas, all I can do is finish stretching, jump onto the floor  _(oh God, we’re gonna puke, no just breathe through it, conceal don’t feel don’t let him know)_ and stretch some more. Honestly, I didn’t really need to reach for my toes or bend myself backwards but I had an appreciative audience and I was more than happy to show off.

Done, I evaluated his face and the way he was shifting uncomfortably from side to side. Yeah, petty revenge achieved. I walked over to my closet, grabbing pajama shorts and the first tank top I saw. The pajama shorts were really just normal pajama pants I’d cut short because it was freaking  _hot_ in my room, and the tank top was some pop culture shit that Gabe bought me specifically because I didn’t understand the reference. It was red with something that I think was a Star Trek symbol.

When I turned around, Dean was still there, eyes glued to my every motion. O- _kay_ then. I really didn’t care if he saw me naked, in fact it promised an incredibly interesting reaction. So I just shrugged, turned around and pulled on the tank top.

I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me, and snickered because  _come on_ this was too easy. I started to pull down my pants and -

“Dean, stop being such a creeper!”

Seriously, Charlie? I was conducting an experiment – how far could I go before he tackled me, ran away, or Lucifer and Gabe killed him in defense of my honor.

Well, I could still make him supremely uncomfortable, so I changed fast enough that my limbs were a blur and Charlie hadn’t been able to drag him from the doorway yet. Or get him to register that she was there, actually.

I turned around again, and then sniffed the air. The queasiness had faded, and I could smell  _bacon._ And french toast. And some form of chocolate.

Suddenly Dean was less interesting when there was food downstairs and he was in the way. I half sprinted to the door, because it was very important that I was downstairs before Gabe ate everything. Slipping between Dean and the doorjamb was an easy matter when you were skinny with sharp elbows.

-_-

“Happy birthday, sweetie!” Anna said, eyes crinkling in the corners as she smiled at me. The skin under her nose was raw and the whites of her eyes streaked with red. She’d been crying, crying a  _lot_ , and a fresh wave of guilt nearly knocked me over with its intensity. I nudged the plate out of her hands and onto the counter so I could hug her.

She returned the embrace, head tucked into the curve between my neck and shoulder. I breathed in the pencil lead and paint smell of her until she pushed me back and forced me into a chair.

“Eat!”

I smiled, and complied.

-_-

I felt like I should be uncomfortable, having two people just sit and stare at me while I scarfed down my breakfast. I realize that I have an insane metabolism, and that normal people wouldn’t (couldn’t) eat half a package of bacon, three quarters of a loaf of french toast (with chocolate syrup) and drink five glasses of juice but - I don’t think it warranted this degree of scrutiny. Fortunately, the torrent of emotion had died down a little, to manageable levels. They weren’t nearly as poignant, and only at their worst with the negatives.

Finished, I stood up and washed my dishes with efficient swipes of a sponge and dried them just as quickly before putting them away.

These menial tasks done, my body fed, I hopped on the counter to address my guests, fingering the switchblade in my pocket to keep calm.

Gabe strolled in, munching on something chocolate in a decidedly anxious manner. He placed a thick three ring binder on the table, looking down to - collect himself? What the fuck?

I watched with a sort of detached curiosity, pulling the knife out of my pocket to play with it as Gabe prepared himself for whatever he was gonna say. I really hoped that it wasn’t about something stupid he’d done with Kali. The number of times Charlie had wiped his record clean had to be somewhere in the low twenties already.

"Cassie," deep breath, Charlie and Dean exchanging looks that expressed too much for me to catch everything, Anna rubbing Gabriel’s back soothingly, "We found Samandriel."


	5. Chapter 5

The sound of the knife hitting the floor was nowhere near as loud as the roaring in my ears.

 

Samandriel.

 

We didn't say his name, and I tried not to think it. If I pretended hard enough, I could nearly forgot the terror of separation. Could nearly forget the way they burned our vocal chords shut so even goodbyes were impossible.

 

My body was moving, scrambling for the knife it had dropped. I was losing focus, I was getting sucked into myself -

 

Lines of red. Sharp pain. Pain. Real. This is real. Not back there. Breathe. Streaks of blood.

 

“Castiel!”

 

The knife was torn from my numb fingers, and it was hard to focus on Anna's face and her distant voice. I reached for the spot that should be full but was always empty and it _wasn't_ empty _oh fuck oh fuck-_

 

Screams. Screaming. Must be back there, I can hear Samandriel screaming or maybe that's me hard to tell here-

 

“Castiel!”

 

Sting. Stinging across cheek. Green eyes, bridge of nose flat, lips on mine-

 

Wait. Lips on mine?

 

I jerked back from the intrusion, wiping my hand over tingling nerves frantically. “What the _fuck,_ Dean!”

 

“Glad to see you're back with us.” Dean said wryly, not bothering to copy my movements. Had to get the taste of him away before I could learn what it was and want it even more. My tongue flicked out to taste the skin he'd so recently vacated and I cursed under my breath. Stupid fucking hormones.

 

I stared down blankly at the cuts covering my arms. I could barely remember doing them, couldn't remember removing my gloves at all. They were deep messy things, crisscrossing through scabs. The blood was everywhere, and I couldn't even begin to count how many there were or their seriousness.  
  


“Could you turn on the water? Cold, please.” My hands were dripping with scarlet, and I didn't relish the thought of scrubbing the tap clean.

 

Dean nodded like that made perfect sense, and hey, maybe he was smarter than I'd set him up to be in my mind and it did. I stood from where I was somehow crouched on the floor, wincing as I stuck my arms under the rush of _coldcoldcold_.

 

With the water rinsing away everything, I could see that I needed bandages. Now. I didn't cut on the underside of my arms usually, it was too risky, but there were deep vertical slashes overing them nonetheless. Not to mention that I'd broken open the worst scabs and then dug deeper still.

 

“The first aid kit's under the sink. Dean?”

 

I moved out of the way enough for him to dig the box out, and he reached for the gauze and cloth tape immediately. Maybe I could learn to like him after all. Emotions were such fickle things, and he could keep his head well enough.

 

I took my left arm out of the water so he could begin putting the gauze on, wrapping it tightly with the cloth tape. He finished quickly, hands moving with practised ease which, interesting. I'd have to think on that one later. I gave him my other arm and the process was repeated.

 

I turned to scan the rest of the room and the people in it – I couldn't recall who had been there when I'd lost it. Charlie, knuckles white from gripping the sides of the trashcan, face pale and slightly green. Gabriel, staring at me with resignation and undisguised horror. Anna, crumpled onto her knees, shoulders shuddering with silent sobs. Someone standing in the doorway, head bent and dark hair shaking with – laughter?

 

Okay, _weird_.

 

I headed for Anna, because she was clearly the priority.

 

“Shh, shh.” I curled over her, nudging her face up and out of her hands. “See, see? It's okay, I'm okay.”

 

She tried to calm herself, made a valiant effort, but I think it was just too much. She'd been through a lot these past couple of days -

 

Fuck, that laughing was really starting to get on my nerves. It made it hard to focus and soon the endorphins and adrenaline would fade and I'd be in some serious pain. There was something nagging on the edges of my perception, a realization creeping through the cracks of my mind. Not to mention the stitches I'd need and I just didn't have _time_ for this, not with blood already soaking through and God there wasn't much noise so how was it all so _loud_.

 

“Anael!” I snapped. Her body automatically brought itself to attention, movements a blur as she stood. Back ramrod straight, knees together, hands folded demurely over her stomach, eyes down.

 

I stood with her, rested my hands on her waist and shook her a little. I would feel terrible later, would apologize with chocolate and anything else she wanted. Right now- “Calm yourself, girl. Sit down and seek revelation before I send you for penance.”

 

Anna did as commanded, of course. Any of us but Lucifer would – it was so ingrained, the right words and tone and posture sending our minds back to another time and world. Lucifer had had time to remove himself from that kneejerk response, time to train himself to adapt other patterns. It was the worst thing we could do to each other, but this felt like an emergency and I couldn't give her the comfort she needed.

 

I could send her back to when she didn't need comfort.

 

My head turned towards Gabriel entirely without my consent, and he looked just as betrayed and horrified as he should. I curled in on myself a little under the accusation of his gaze, but there was understanding there too.

 

_What happened?_ I asked with my eyes, and he merely jerked his head towards the figure in the doorway.

  
The more I looked at them, the more I didn't want to. There was a truth there, one I didn't want to know and-

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

“Hello, Cassiel.”

 

I made a noise soemwhere between a whine and a sob because this _couldn't_ be happening. It was _impossible,_ so _very_ impossible. I couldn't move, even though I wanted to throw myself on him. I looked for that empty place inside of me, the place where he used to be and -

 

“I've finally gone insane.” I said, or tried to anyways. My throat closed over the words and then my body was moving, seeking physical reassurance of what I already knew. It wasn't that everything was too loud, it was that everything had been unbearably quiet.

 

He met me halfway, and then I was crying into his neck, and he was shushing me, and I was breathing in the smell of my twin for the first time in far too long. I slipped my arms up under his shirt to feel bare skin, and I just needed to _feel_ him, to trace the brand between his shoulder blades that matched my own. Feeling his hand wriggle underneath my tank top to do the same was possibly the best thing I've ever felt, the sense of _right._

 

“It's okay, it's okay Cassie, I'm here, I'm here.” Then he was pulling away, resting our foreheads against each other, and _it was real oh God this is real._

 

I laughed, not the broken sound that had come back to me in these past two days but something else, something older. “You're here.”

 

He smiled, and the breath punched out of me, because I thought I'd never see that again. I kissed that gorgeous smile, kissed his cheeks, kissed everything I could reach, and he was laughing and pretending to push at me when he was really tugging me closer. He shoved my arm by accident and I hissed with pain, teeth clenched against the sudden reminder that I was, in fact, very much so in danger of making the entire kitchen smell like copper for a month.

 

-_-

 

Dean stitched my arms up right in the middle of the kitchen, and I would have to really think about these damn field medic skills later. There was so much to do later.

 

But right now I was doing my best not to whimper, leaning into Samandriel's chest. He'd pulled up another stool behind me so he could rest his head in the hollow between neck and shoulder, sit me in the v of legs, wrap his arms tight over my rib cage. I'd made myself forget how much I missed him, how _essential_ his presence was. I'd forced the truth of what the void came from out of my head and as far away as I could make it go.

 

There was something familiar about Dean Winchester. He'd sparked something inside of me, sparked something in the hole that only Samandriel could fill _(okay brain, I get it, poor phrasing, shut the fuck up now)._

 

I would have to add it to the long list of 'later'.

 

Dean finished too quickly and too slowly for my taste. Too quickly because when he moved away just the tiniest bit of the void returned. It wasn't as bad as it used to be, without itself to feed on. It was just a tiny gap.

 

I was bandaged, I was fed, I had a water bottle in my room and Samandriel wasn't hungry. We could officially go upstairs and sleep which was _fantastic_ because we were both exhausted. I'd endured my usual sleeping pattern, you know, waking up every hour and a half shaking with nightmares. I don't know what he'd been doing but he was even more tired than me, been up for a long time.

 

So we crashed in my bed, shedding clothes on the way so we could press skin to skin and as close as possible. The deep ache in my bones turned out to be weariness, and now that Samandriel was here I could rest.

 

We were whole, and content, and safe, and could finally rest.

 

-_-

 

“God – Dean, _please -”_ my voice is shaking, weak, tense with frustration.

 

“What did I say about talking?” Dean brings his attention from where he'd been dragging the razor feather light over my hipbones. He straddles me now, but not where I _need it_ , body pressing down hard on my stomach. “And, for that matter, moving?”

 

His voice is dryly amused and it's so hard to think, but it still pisses me off. “You said-” he grinds, dragging smooth skin perilously close to where he  _ really fucking should be.  _ It pulls a noise from my throat that doesn't even sound  _ human _ . “You said that, that, that-” God, could he stop pressing the blade into the hollow of my throat, that isn't even  _ fair.  _ “You said that you'd have to punish me if I moved or didn't stay quiet!”

 

And it comes out absolutely too loud, but the look on his face is worth it – feral, possesive, and he pulls the razor away.

 

“Good boy.” He practically purrs, and then leaves my body entirely. I'm shaking, helpless little quivers at the sudden touch of cold air on my skin. _Come back, kill me, fuck me raw I don't care just come back._

 

I want to move my head, want to try and find him, but the more I move the longer until he comes back. I try and calm myself, long shallow breaths until I've stilled everything I can. And it's torturous, it's absolute _agony-_

 

“Cassiel?”

 

“Whah?” I jerk awake with a start, wiping drool from my mouth and doing my best to look attentive and respectful.

 

“It's okay, it's just me.” I don't know if that's vague amusement I hear in his voice, but I groan and flop back down to where I'd been quite comfortably sleeping in the crook of his arm.

 

“Sleepy.” I slur out, not quite understanding why I can't get comfortable enough to fall back into the wonderful dream I'd been having. It was vague now, and I grasped at the fading edges with regret.

 

“I can't sleep when you're like this.” Samandriel murmurs and his voice is frustrated – which, _unfair._ He jerked _me_ awake, thankyouverymuch. “Shut up you're thinking too loud.”

 

“Am not. You're the one who keeps talking.”

 

“Yeah and you're the one humping my leg so we're even.” The exasperation is fond but the words wake me up just a little when they register.

 

Oh my _God_ I didn't know it was possible to feel this level of embarassment.

 

“'s fine, Cassiel.” Samandriel drops a soft kiss on the top of my head as I make futile (though valiant) attempts to stop my body. “'s not like we haven't done it before.”

 

I snap at his collarbone, just hard enough that it startles a moan out of him but not hard enough to break skin. “That wasn't the same and you know it.”

 

“True 'nuff.”

 

His hand slips down the length of my body, and it's calming, soothing, even as anticipation builds in my gut. Samandriel pushes back so he can look at my eyes – never could bear to sleep without a nightlight – and line us up until...

 

_Oh._

 

It's been so long since someone else touched me like this, and never this way. Never like I was something precious, like I was anything but an amusing past time or a diversion from the horror surrounding. It draws whimpers out of my throat, eyes slamming shut and jaw going slack because it's  _overwhelming._

 

“Oh my God, this is your first time, isn't it?” there's a sort of quiet awe in my twin's voice, and it's all I can do to nod. “If I'd known-”

 

Something chokes him up right then and maybe it was emotion or maybe it was the slight shift in my hips, but either way we're kissing and it's so  _right_ to do this, to have him like this, closer and closer until I can't tell where I start and he begins, where my pleasure ends and his starts. 

 

“Would have saved it, if I knew you were out there, missed you so _much-”_ twist of the hand _God_ “-always thought about you never felt right, always felt scared cuz-” thumb catching in the slit _fuckfuckfuck_ “- you weren't there was so empty-” switching hands so he can press one against my entrance, explores “-need you, love you-” then two fingers dry, driving up and in _holy mother of **fuck.**_

 

The world goes white for an indefinite period of time, everything so good it almost hurts and what does hurt so good I know it will kill me if it keeps me up but God I would be willing to die like this.

 

Things come back in centimeters, blurred vision returning. Samandriel is beautiful like this, wearing my face but so much better than I ever could. There's awe in his eyes, awe that's just for  _me,_ that's  _mine_ and I'm whispering stupid promises into his mouth before I know it, shoving down on his fingers because they're solid and real and feel fantastic even though I regained full sentience approximately seven seconds ago. 

 

I pull away from his lips, shove a hand down to join his, press another finger inside and the burn is  _perfect_ another reminder that this is  _happening._

 

I pull up and off of him, shoving him on his back before settling myself over him, hands clenching down onto his shoulders and then pushing down and _oh God._

 

It doesn't matter that I just came, because apparently being a teenage virgin and having a weird psychic link with your partner means a refractory time of like fucking 75 seconds. I watch his hands twist and cling to the sheets, which isn't fair because they should be digging bruises into my ribcage and maybe I whispered it because then they were doing that and we were moving and his _face-_

 

It's a spurt of warmth and fucking _ecstasy_ and this must be what getting high feels like, this second hand orgasm dragging another one out of me until I collapse on top of Samandriel in a sweaty, cum covered and filled _mess_.

 

“Showers are gonna be such a bitch.” I mutter into his collarbone when the ability to speak has made it back to me.

 

He just snorts his agreement, positions me so I'm still on top of him but he can breathe.

 

And there aren't the right words for how I felt right then, but I'll try to find them anyways.

 

It was finishing a really good book in your favorite recliner, hot cup of tea in hand and exactly the right amount of a late summer sunset filtering through your blinds. It was the feeling you get when a cat purrs, comes up with you of their own volition, purrs some more and rubs their face on yours. It waking up and staying in bed not because you were tired but because this was the most fucking comfortable you'd ever been.

 

It was all of that and so much more and better yet, I was the one feeling it.

 

Or maybe it was Samandriel, and honestly? That even being a possibility was enough to let me smile my way asleep.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

I woke to blue eyes staring into mine, and I brushed my nose against his affectionately. He laughed, pecking me on the lips for a brief moment.  
  


“Dean Winchester is familiar, isn't he?” Samandriel said, and I nodded.

 

“Do you think we met him _there?_ ” I ask, voice shaking just the smallest amount at the mention of a place we had lived for millenia.

 

“I don't know.” Samandriel traced the sharp jut of my collarbone. “So many people came and went. But it's-”

 

“Almost like he has a piece of us? I couldn't feel and then-”

 

“Yes, I know exactly what you mean. He was there when they picked me up.” Samandriel touches his lips to mine, not really kissing, just sharing breaths.

 

“Where were you?” I murmur into his mouth, and he pulls away the barest of amounts to answer.

 

“I was in a group home. Charlie pushed paperwork through and for some reason Bobby has a fake FBI badge. Charlie's working on changing my name and granting Gabriel, Anna and Lucifer joint custody.”

 

I nodded. “Name change?”  
  


He grinned, moved his mouth back on mine so I could feel his smile. “Yes. I didn't give them a name when they found me, forgot how to talk for a while-”

 

I know he didn't forget how to talk, he was just scared to. He knows I know, but I don't say anything because the memories make me want to puke even with him here and safe and all around me.

 

“-and so they named me James Novak. Family took me in for awhile, good people. But they died in a car accident and I went into the system.”  
  


“Last night-”

 

“Yeah. It wasn't my first time.”

 

We're silent for a minute, and I listen to the thud of our synchronized heartbeats.

 

“I'm glad that-”

 

“Shh.” He kissed me gently, lazy slides of tongue over mine. “I understand. I detoxed recently, not that I was gonna stay clean for long but now.”

 

I kissed him again, and the taste of him was comforting. “With the void gone...”  
  


He nodded and I didn't need to say anything more. We had each other. There was no need to try and fill the gaping hole when there wasn't one anymore.

 

“We need to shower.”

 

I snorted, because I had been so absorbed in him I hadn't even noticed. I was sticky and my stomach and inner thighs were covered in dried come. I almost wanted to keep it there, yet another concrete reminder of my twin being here but... the ache between my legs would have to do.

 

“It's pretty early. We can probably shower together before anyone's up.”  
  


We had silently agreed to not tell anyone that our weird relationship stretched to other areas of our life. We had spent so much time in the other place, had done things and had things done to us that none of them could imagine. Solace was found with each other, sometimes by our own choice but more often by their's. Samandriel and I, we'd done things to one another and ourselves and captives that were...

 

“Sure, let's go.”

 

-_-

 

Breakfast was awkward.

 

Anna was still... She followed Gabriel's directions sedately, quietly and I hated that there was no way I could apologize yet. When she saw me and Samandriel, something flashed in her eyes that might have been recognition – she'd practically raised us – but she just kissed our foreheads and fixed our plates. We said grace over the meal, a rare habit now, because Anna wouldn't eat without it.

 

Gabriel gently ordered her back to her room when the food was consumed, and she dropped a little curtsy before complying. She'd probably go and read her bible, maybe practice her handwriting.

 

Gabriel turned on me the moment she was out of earshot and my brother – my brother is not a scary man. He does not have the height, the hair or the jawline to be intimidating. When he looked at me like that though, Samandriel put his back to mine so we would know if others came.

 

It was a very old habit.

 

Gabriel observed the exchange and something softened about him, just enough that I tapped Samandriel's awareness with mine – struggling to remember that this was our brother. He wasn't - he wasn't one of them. We were safe with him.

 

“Castiel.” Shit. He never used my full name. “What you did yesterday...” Gabriel shook his head, pulling a twix wrapper out of his pocket to fiddle with. “I want to punish you kiddo, I really do because when Anna comes back she'll be forgiving and perfect as ever. But Lucifer will be home by dinner-”  
  
“Fuck.” I interrupt him, not meaning to, but the swear word made him smile just a bit and then everything about him relaxed. And he pulled me and Samandriel into a hug.

 

Samandriel was letting off warning bells so loud that I nearly flinched away from the hug myself, but I tried to soothe him, brushing the back of his hand with my fingertips. Gabriel _wasn't_ a threat. Okay, well maybe on April Fool's.

 

“I'm happy for you, Cassie.” Gabriel said after he released us, and something in the tilt of the grin – he knew. Oh, _God._ He saw the dawning horror on my newly expressive face and gave me a light slap upside the head. “Lucifer might be more forgiving than you think. Ask him about what happened with Michael.”

 

Leaving me with that cryptic piece of bullshit, he turned around and pulled out his phone as he waltzed for the door. Probably texting Kali.

 

I glanced at Samandriel, and he twisted his fingers into mine with a grin. I felt myself smiling back automatically, laughing a little because I was so happy my body just couldn't keep it all in. “We could sit around and catch up on everything or...”  
  
“Yeah, let's go find Dean.” His eyes were duller than mine, the blue not as vibrant, but they flashed for a moment nonetheless.

 

“Do you know where he lives?” I asked, because Samandriel was pulling me towards the door with obvious confidence. I pulled out my phone to let Gabriel know what we were doing, and he only replied with a somewhat ominous 'be home for dinner'.

 

“Yeah, well, sort of. He lives with that Bobby guy.”

 

“Crap, we're gonna need a ride.” I muttered and then tugged him towards Charlie's. “Come on, we should talk to her anyways.”

 

“Can we tell her about-”

 

“Maybe, I mean, she knows that I like-”

 

Samandriel jostled my shoulder with a laugh. “Oh, do you? Good, I like him too.”  
  


“Wait, do you think that he would...” I motioned between us.

 

“Yeah. He thinks you're hot, so by extension I'm hot, and the more the merrier.” Samandriel shrugged at my critical look. “Threesomes, ever heard of them?”

 

“Samandriel, I know how to use the internet.”  
  
“Not for anything worthwhile, I bet.” He said under his breath and I went to shove him but realized we were at Charlie's door already.

 

“You wanna-”

 

He was already ringing the doorbell. I fidgeted uncomfortably, suddenly sure this was the worst idea I'd ever had. Charlie opened the door, face pinched tight with exhaustion and stress, hair ratty. “Oh!” she said, then just stood there staring.

 

Me and Samandriel glanced at each other and then – shit, don't you _dare -_

 

“Look, me and Cassiel are having sex. He's gonna be weird around you, well weirder, until you know that. We're here because we need a ride to Bobby's so we can see whether -”

 

I slammed my hand over his mouth, before he could explain that we wanted to investigate Dean and possibly have sex with him. I smiled at Charlie, whose face had lit up in a way that was more than a little bit disturbing.

 

“I can get you a ride – come in.” Charlie turned around, heading into her living room. I gave Samandriel a look that very clearly said _we'll talk about this later_ before following. His amusement practically _radiated_ off of him.

 

“I apologize for my twin's behavior.”

 

Charlie grinned at me. “Don't be, Dean owes me twenty bucks.”

 

I just stared at her, because nothing in that sentence made sense. Mostly because I wanted to retain my sanity. “What.”

 

Charlie snorted, rolling her eyes. “I'll call Dean to come pick you u-”

 

“Actually,” Samandriel interrupted. “We're going over there to talk to Dean anyways. So if you could just lure him here...”

 

Charlie nodded at him approvingly. “I like the way you think. I'll get him over here, you introduce Cassie to pop culture.”

 

Samandriel turned to stare at me. “What does she mean, 'introduce' you?”

 

I sighed heavily, because this was obviously gonna be one of those days. “I don't watch a lot of tv or movies or read a lot of books.”

“What do you do with your laptop then?”

 

“Mostly fanfiction. Or porn.”

 

“I thought fanfiction _was_ porn.”

 

I stared at Samandriel, absolutely _horrified_. “No. It's literature. It is hundreds of thousands of people using the same cast of characters in so many different roles. It's _art-”_

 

“Porn.”

 

“Okay, _sometimes_ porn, but still-”

 

“Porn.”

 

“What the hell do you have against porn!”

 

Samandriel snickered at my outburst gesturing over to where Charlie was trying to explain away the shouted statement. I groaned, dropping my head onto his shoulder. “Whatever, make me watch movies.”

 

“I think you'd like Suckerpunch – Charlie probably has it...”

 

For the next half hour I was absorbed in the most visually stunning movie I'd ever seen. It was fascinating, set around three alternate universes with the same base storyline threading them together – it was _beautiful._ When I heard the door open, I almost didn't want to deal with Dean. But I knew we'd have to, and I knew that this conversation was most likely going to lead to flashbacks and freaking out for all of us.

 

Samandriel pressed pause and I didn't have many choices anymore, so I turned to face Dean Winchester and his stupidly perfect body with his stupidly perfect face and stupidly incredible eyes-

 

Focus, Castiel. Focus.

 

“Hello, Dean.” I managed, and it came out almost robotically. Fantastic.

 

Samandriel dragged me from where I had been perfectly comfortable on the couch and gestured for Dean to join us. “Dean, you've met Cassiel-”

 

I flinched. Fuck, don't call me that.

 

Samandriel noticed, and I just mouthed _Cassie_ at him. “Cassie. Have a seat.”

 

Dean sat down in the recliner, and we settled back on the couch. “Why am I here?” he asked warily.

 

“You're familiar. You're carrying around a piece of us.” Samandriel said, and thank God he'd always been the chatty twin.

 

Dean glanced down at his body, like he expected to find a literal piece of us.

 

I sighed. “No, like a piece of _us_ , of our connection or whatever.”

 

“Your soul.” Charlie chimed in. “You two have the same soul, split between two bodies. Somehow, Dean has a piece of it.”

 

“But – how, that doesn't even-”

 

“Have you ever been to Alistair's Court, Dean?” Samandriel said, and I whimpered against him, so scared for a moment that I nearly missed the color drain from Dean's face.

 

“No.” he whispered, not very convincingly.

 

“When were you there? Before or after Uriel's Rebellion?”

 

Dean was shaking his head, body trembling. “No. No, I wasn't there.”

 

His voice was high and breaking and tears were threatening to stream out-

 

“Oh my God. Samandriel, I remember him. He was there during the Glass Wall.” I got out of the chair, and I was walking towards Dean, settling into his lap so I could hug him. “It's okay, I forgive you, it's okay.”

 

“It didn't happen,” Dean mumbled into my chest, arms wrapping around me with crushing force. “It _didn't_ I didn't do those things, I couldn't have.”

 

I ran my hand through his hair, and it was strange, to see him so grown up. “I'm here, Dean. It's okay.

 

“It's okay.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

The first time Samandriel and I saw Dean, we were intrigued more than anything else.

 

We were at a feast being thrown in the honor of Alistair. It had been a while since we were around so many other creatures, been a longer time since we were around other pets. Alistair looked like he could have been a pet, once. We'd heard it whispered that if pets were here long enough they began to warp, to change into one of those creatures.

 

Years didn't matter in this place, they didn't really apply, but Samandriel and I had been here for 862 Turns of the Seasons. We'd belonged to 37 different masters so far, and Samandriel suspected that tonight that number might become 38. I would be a little bit sad to leave Bartholomew's care – he was a jealous master, kept us close and safe and only in _his_ bed. Serving him was easy and his wants were predictable. He'd even aged us a bit, past small children to early teens. So many masters liked us small, malleable, delicate and easy to break. _Necesssary_ to break for some of the things they wanted, and impossible to _not_ break with others _._

 

If Samandriel was right, we'd be gifted to Alistair. The thought was terrifying – he'd been invited to try us out once, and while he never did anything out of the usual... you could see it in his eyes, his calculated movements, that he wasn't just having a good time. He was measuring us, sizing up our fears and desires and storing them for future reference.

 

Right now though, I needed to focus. Samandriel and I were on one of the circular, elevated platforms that dotted the cavernous room. We were part of the entertainment... and as such were expected to entertain.

 

Samandriel crawled, loose limbed and graceful, to where I was propped up on my elbows waiting. Settling himself on my lap, he scraped a fingernail down my chest just hard enough to leave a pink line, for my abdomen muscles to twitch. Wrapping his hand around my neck, he tugged on the short hairs carefully – two long, one short.

 

I answered by sliding completely flat on my back, dragging my fingers teasingly over his ribcage as I went. His breath caught, pupils widening when I squeezed twice right where I knew it would get to him – rather than, say, anywhere else. He growled softly at me, but slid down my body to mouth at my hipbones softly anyways. I hardened almost almost too quickly, the rush of blood making me gasp. It was already getting hard to think, and I let out a sharp moan when he bit down on my thigh.

 

“Samandriel.” I said, _breathed_ , but I knew he heard. It showed in the subtle twist of his lips, a satisfied smirk that I wanted to wipe off of him.

 

But no. We had agreed that he'd be in charge – he was always more level headed than me when it came to performing.

 

He didn't tease much longer, would save that for later, before he swallowed me down. I fought the need to shove up and in – we didn't do this nearly often enough lately, Bartholomew being really serious about the only fucking him thing. Samandriel held my hips down, steadying himself as he worked his throat and tongue around me.

 

He knew all the tricks to take me to the edge and hold me there, and he used them mercilessly now. I was begging in whimpers and sobs before long, and when he pulled off I couldn't tell if it was a relief or torture.

 

Samandriel blew gently on the head of my dick and yeah, yeah that was torture.

 

He nudged me gently, and my mind cleared just enough to realize there was something I was supposed to be – ah, yes. I flipped myself onto my elbows and knees in a hurried and practiced motion, spreading my stance and canting my hips up in a quiet plea.  
  
The lack of distracting stimulis meant I was left to actually look at our surroundings while Samandriel did... whatever it was he was doing back there. I swallowed a little, because we were gonna do this vanilla but if someone gifted him with a toy or request... he'd warn me first, but until then I was left guessing – half the fun, really.  
  
The crowd wasn't large, or maybe the room was just so huge it didn't seem very large – hard to tell here. None of the other performing pets were close enough to make out details, though I did see one sitting next to a chair not even five feet away. And... that was the closest person, no Masters within forty feet.

 

I relaxed a little, because the odds of that changing soon weren't very high. I returned my attention to the pet I'd dismissed automatically. He was facing us, clothed in -

 

I choked on my own breath, a snap of Samandriel's fingers leaving me open and prepped enough that he could slam inside. Suddenly it was too much trouble to focus on what the pet across from us was wearing, no matter how important it had seemed a moment ago.

 

If you had the will for something to happen – and the permission to make it happen – in here then it would. You could make things out of thin air if you were focused enough, and Samandriel used that now to pull my arms behind my back and up in invisible restraints, one hand fisted in the back of my hair to keep my head upright and the other in a bruising grip on my hip.

 

I fucking hated it that he could do this – seemed so unfair and oh Gods a little to the left -

 

Something that was probably best described as a _wail_ came out of my mouth when he hit the spot inside that made me see white. He could have gotten it first try, but he was feeling kind enough to not make me completely incoherent within the first ten seconds.

 

“Harder, harder – what the fuck _harder_ you asshole-” I gasped out, and I heard the bastard actually _chuckle_ behind me. Oh, it was gonna be like that, huh?

 

He took a little bit of mercy on me, allowing my head to drop forwards as he dragged himself in and out with agonizingly slow movements. My eyes refocused just enough to see the pet across from me.

 

He was human, tanned skin and blond hair cropped short to the skull. He must have been about fifteen, with brilliant green eyes and – me and Samandriel had heard our fair share of compliments and insults about our lips, but this boy... I gave a little nudge at Samandriel's consciousness, and he sent back the mental equivalent of a smirk.

 

“Like what you see?” Samandriel said, driving in – _finally –_ hard enough that my eyes rolled back in my head for a moment. Then back to that fucking glacial thing, I was gonna _kill_ him when it was my turn to be in charge.

 

The boy blushed and – oh wow, _blushing_. I'd forgotten that was like a thing people could do. He must be brand new if he was still able to do that out of genuine emotion and not as part of his act. He shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the short tunic he was wearing in a futile attempt to hide how very much he liked what he saw.

 

Oh. _Oh._ That's what had been important about his clothing -

 

“Wanna join?” Samandriel scratched his fingernails down my back, _hard_ and coherent thought left me again.

 

“I- am I allowed, because-”

 

“Your – oh fuck, come on, that's just rude I am gonna get you so bad later -” he was tracing designs just under my shoulder blades and _Gods_ I hated him.

 

“Your tunic. It says that you can play with other pets, but not other Masters. You're new, they probably wanna see what you have.” Samandriel finished for me.  
  


“Also why they – let me fucking _talk,_ Samandriel, I don't- fuck.”

 

“It's also why they would have put you by us.” Samandriel draped himself over my back and I made a contented little noise. Sure, he wasn't fucking me like I wanted, but at least he was giving me skin to skin contact. “They want to see how we look together.”

 

“My name's Cassiel, that's my twin Samandriel.” I licked my lips and dropped my mouth open just a little in a clear invitation.

 

“Dean.” said the pet, and then he was standing and _yeah._ Best idea we'd had in _Seasons._

 

I closed my eyes, relaxed my jaw, and listened to Samandriel laugh under his breath at me. _Fuck you._ I thought very pointedly in his direction. It had been _forever_ since I'd had two at once like this, I missed it.

 

_'Fuck you.'_ came his mocking reply, and I grinned in spite of myself. 

 

-_-

 

We were given as tribute to Alistair, as expected. Samandriel gloated for three days. He wasn't a good master, wasn't even  _close,_ but there was one hell of a silver lining. Dean was also gifted, and he loved the way we looked together. We got to help with the breaking in. 

 

Since Dean wasn't a virgin he wasn't trained by Alistair personally. The person in charge was a favored pupil of Alistair, a slave named Benny. Alistair had given express orders not to train Dean in pain tolerance, not even any tips.

 

“Dean, I'm practically falling asleep here.” I complained. I'd been hanging in the middle of the room naked and completely stationary for about half an hour and Dean had yet to so much as slap me.

 

“I don't _hurt_ people.” he said stubbornly. 

 

“Oh my Gods.” I rolled my eyes and mumbled some obscenities under my breath.

 

“You're going to hurt yourself and others way fucking more with that attitude.” Samandriel said, tone acidic. He took a knife off the tray of tools, heading for me with intent. “You think I ever wanted to hurt Cassiel? He's my twin, the other half of my fucking soul and mind. I can _feel_ when he's upset or in pain.”  
  
I winced. “Yeah. If you say you won't, they'll do something even worse.”

 

“And make you watch.” Samandriel muttered. He stroked a finger down my face in quick apology, even though we both knew that there was no need for it today. We weren't going to do anything that would really hurt me today, would try and introduce Dean to it gently.

 

“Besides-” Samandriel slashed the first cut, tracing the lowest of my left ribs. I shuddered, biting back a quiet moan. “-Cassiel likes it.”

 

-_-

 

My throat was raw from screaming, voice barely a whisper of sound. Dean had taken to the torture with an admirable sort of detachment, face empty the second he picked up a tool.

 

Right now he was in the process of cracking my ribcage open, and I'd never been able to get used to having that much of me on display. He stood there for a long moment staring down at the busy gore of my organs, heart beating frantically and lungs fed by trickles of air.

 

Then he was on his knees, puking up water and bile and the little bit of toast we'd convinced him to eat this morning.

 

Benny sighed a little, and touched a hand to my forehead gently. A moment later I was whole, and I lay on the metal table for a moment longer to get my head together – not literally, thank the gods. Samandriel helped me swing my legs over the side and stand up even though I was perfectly fine, and I kissed his cheek lightly before settling down next to Dean.

 

“Dean.” he turned his face away from me, into his shoulder. “Dean.” I said more firmly.

 

“I'm sorry.” he whispered, and I don't think any of us knew exactly what he was sorry about. About hurting me, about not being able to continue hurting me, about both.

 

“It's okay.” I stroked a hand through his hair, ignoring the way he flinched from my touch. “You're here willingly right, not a captive?”

 

He nodded, and I could almost feel the shame radiating from him. “Yeah – I. My little brother, he was really sick and there wasn't anything I could...”

 

I tapped a finger to the floor and cleared the puke away so that I could wrap myself around him properly. “You'll get to go home to him. The standard term for selfless healing is what, 40 Seasons? Just keep your mind on that.”

 

He shook his head, but leaned into my touch. “You and Samandriel, you're a matched set. You'll always have each other, they don't break you up permanently. Me...”

 

Samandriel wrapped himself around Dean from the other side, and Benny signaled quietly to me that he was going. I didn't blame him – he was only allowed to teach Dean how to hurt things, not comfort him. But with Benny gone and not coming back until morning...

 

Me and Samandriel had talked about this, and this was the best opportunity we'd had in a while. “Dean, remember what Samandriel said about us being one soul? Well, he meant that literally. We're one soul split between two bodies, an anomaly.”

 

“I don't-”

 

“I'm sure you've noticed that we can talk to each other without speaking.”

 

“Well yeah, but I really don't see-”

 

“Cassiel wants to give you a little bit of his half of our soul.” Samandriel said.

 

“... what?”

 

Yeah, that's why I'd been trying to tell him slowly.

 

“I've heard legends among the pets. Of people who did it. They've only got a claim on your soul, if we add a bit of mine then you're something new, something they've got no hold over. You'll be torn from this realm and back into your's.”

 

“Home? I'll go home?”

 

I closed my eyes. This was such a stupid idea, but Dean was so – so  _good_ . So pure. Every day he stayed here I stripped a little bit of that away from him and I just couldn't take it anymore. The punishment would be - 

 

I tried not to think about that part of it.

 

“Yeah, you'll go home.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, so I was just the teensiest bit off.

 

“I'm sorry,” I said, again, helping Charlie pick up the shards of a ceramic figurine Dean had broken when he bolted out of the house.

 

“It's fine, it's fine.” Charlie waved away my apology, grimacing down at the shattered remains. “It's not like I don't have the money to replace it.”

 

“Still...”

 

She snorted and dropped another piece into the paper bag she'd dug out of the kitchen. “Just tell me what the hell just happened and we'll be good.”

 

I froze, hands clenching around – thankfully – air. “He- technically he wasn't there for the Glass Wall. He was the cause of it.”

 

Charlie waited patiently enough, continuing to work as I swallowed. Samandriel stayed quiet – this was my story, or close enough. I was the one who had wanted him out, who had taken the biggest risks.

 

“I'm not sure where we were. It's hard to describe. It wasn't... it wasn't this Realm, though. You could bend reality with a thought, with a wish. The only things of true power there were names and souls. They would take people from other Realms, like Earth, keep us as … as pets.” I closed my eyes for a moment. “Held us there under the power of our names and souls.”

 

“But why would they only take you and Samandriel a month?” Charlie asked.

 

Me and Samandriel snorted in unison.

 

“They don't just take people out of a location, they take us out of our time. Dean was 15 or so and there at the same time as me and Samandriel.”

 

“I-” Charlie pinched her nose, rocking back on her heels. “So, they can pick where and when they take you out and where and when you go back. Does that count for every universe?”

 

“Realm.” I corrected. “There's a difference. It's not an alternate universe, that would make it a different reality. It's just... another layer of our universe. There are so many, though, and they all work differently.”

 

“The future is now.” Charlie muttered to herself. “Okay, I think I've got it. How long were you two there then?”

 

I frowned. Samandriel answered for me. “We don't know. We were... a very long time. They don't count it the same there as we do, and even if they did it's another planet, so... in their time we were there for. Oh, Gods. I can't even remember.”

 

'Gods'. That was one of the problems with talking about it. You slipped into old habits.

 

“Almost a thousand Seasons, I think.”

 

Charlie nodded, and oh, right.

 

“Not seasons like winter and summer, Seasons like of the Gods.” I paused, frowning, trying to think of the best way to explain it.

 

“Gods came in and out of power all the time. They ruled everything, everyone. There were three Waves that took turns, so that the Gods would never falter and always be strong and rested. Also because mortals are annoying little shits and they had to switch out instead of smiting all of us.” Samandriel, the chatty twin, folks.

 

“Yeah. So the length of the Seasons changed all the time.” I shrugged. “And Gods only – _God_ only knows what it would have translated to on Earth.”

 

“But that means-” Charlie raised her eyebrows at us, shifting so that she was sitting crosslegged. She'd finished cleaning while we were talking, I hadn't really noticed. “You two are like, ancient up there. And you came back in six year old's bodies?”  
  


“Well, yeah. They put most pets back exactly where they came from in the same state they left. Sometimes healthier.” I let my eyes slide to Samandriel for just a moment, and he twitched the corner of his mouth up. _Most_ was definitely the operative word. “It's – difficult to keep track of things in a body that young. I'd forgotten how much the human body _needed_.”

 

Charlie nodded, more thoughtfully now. “So, about Dean...”

 

I cringed a little. Samandriel sat himself behind me, and I relaxed into the familiar position. My story to tell.

 

“They hold us there through our true names and our souls. If even one bit of either of those things change – though you really can't change your true name, you're stuck with it – you're released immediately, torn out of their reality and back where you came from....”

 

-_-

 

“This is the stupidest fucking thing I have _ever_ done with you. Fuck, fuck, _fuck..._ ”

 

“Shut up.” I hissed at Samandriel, who just raised his eyebrows to say 'well, it _is_ '.

 

We'd found the ritual, though it had taken us ten Seasons and more luck than I could even begin to fathom. In the first four Seasons Dean had risen through the ranks of Alistair's pets. He was treated nearly as well as a _slave_ , if rumors were anything to go by. He was used to punish the pets who tried to escape, a position usually awarded to at _least_ a servant.

 

After the first five pets to come back, the rate of us even considering escape dropped drastically. It was whispered that even fantasizing about it could get you taken to see Dean, whispered that his eyes flooded with black when he warped reality, a gift from the God Azazel himself.

 

I needed him here for the ritual to work, needed to be touching him. There was only one way that would happen, and I prayed to the Adaeona, Sors and Feronia every spare moment I could. Sors, God of Luck, and Adaeona, Goddess who-guides-lost-children-home, were both in this Season. I didn't pray because I thought they would listen – I was only a pet, not even of their Realm. I prayed because it was that or listen to Samandriel try and talk me out of it.

 

-_-

 

“So your plan was to try and escape, and then get tortured by Dean? Until, what, he touched you? Then you'd be able to pull off this ritual? I'm not an expert, but don't you need like longer than a split second of contact to do a ritual?”

 

I sighed. “Yeah, you do. But Dean, he was very...”

 

“Hands on.” Samandriel supplied, and I just nodded.

 

“And what's the difference between a slave and a pet, anyways?”

 

“Slaves are of that Realm. The Gods listen to their prayers and it is illegal to do certain things to them.” I answered. “Pets are from other Realms, brought over solely for sexual entertainment. Anything is fair game.”

 

“Oh, God.” Charlie looked a little pale, and I leaned forward to pat her on the hand reassuringly. “So they just throw pets back when they get bored of them?”

 

“Yeah, pretty much. We're not of the Realm so it's easier to warp reality around us. We're not... we're not _right_ there. Our bodies are closer to our souls somehow, maybe because of the way we're brought over.”

 

“Is that why you didn't die of old age? Because the soul is eternal, or whatever?” Charlie asked, and I frowned harder.

 

“Uh...” Samandriel said weakly. “Never really thought about it? Anyways, Cassie-”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

 

-_-

 

“Stupid. Stupid, stupid, _stupid,_ this was all your fault Cassiel, _stupid._ ”

 

“Shut the fuck up!” I snapped in the direction of my brother. My chains clinked as I talked, and I glowered down at the rusty metal.

 

The room could be best described as a dungeon – the kind you keep actual prisoners in, not the sexy kind of dungeon. We could be here for days before Dean showed up, or seconds. Either way, the last thing I wanted him to walk in on was a constant stream of Samandriel blaming me. His opinion of me would be low enough already, especially if he didn't remember me. Which was likely, the last ten Seasons had been long and we were only there for his first.

 

The door opened with a _boom_ , and I winced back against the wall. Immediately regretting that decision, I flinched _away_ from the wall. It was covered in some kind of slime and – yup. Figures they would put slime that _itched_ on the fucking walls of this place cuz hey, _why not._ Samandriel just gave me a snarky look. Asshole.

 

“I understand you two are one soul! Awesome. Now, they shut down your connection when you came in here, but I'm going to be opening it back up.”

 

I swallowed. That – that did not sound like it was going to be fun. We kept the bond closed or open just a trickle most of the time. It allowed for privacy, and kept us from getting overwhelmed. If Dean was going to force it open and then _hold it there_...

 

He stepped forward a little, eyes flashing black as he turned up the lighting. He was... I thought he had been beautiful _before_. Now he was twenty something, even though Samandriel and I were still stuck in our early teens. I could see why they'd aged him, though. He was stunning.

 

Then the bond pulled wide open and Samandriel's distaste for Dean, his contempt for this entire idea, his fear and anger and frustration, hit me with a palpable force. I was left gasping, staring blankly into green eyes. I'd – I had _no idea._ I'd thought... I don't know what I'd thought. That maybe Samandriel felt the same way? That he'd fallen in love with Dean, that he'd been at least _understanding_ of how we couldn't, absolutely could not, allow this selfless person's humanity to rot away like our's and so many others had?

 

I guess I'd just assumed that. We almost always saw eye to eye, after all.

 

And then I was washed away by the utter _betrayal_ Samandriel felt because it wasn't _fair_ that I'd love someone else, love someone else even approaching the same level as I loved him. Loving Samandriel wasn't even an emotion, it was ingrained into my bones and body and soul. But loving Dean had filled in cracks there I didn't even know there _were_ , and now Samandriel was feeling them and -

 

“That's interesting.”

 

Dean's voice snapped me back to the present and I glanced at where his attention was focused. He'd somehow made the bond visible, two ribbons of light and words and images twisted around each other and cocooning our bodies in a gentle glow.

 

“Looks like Samandriel didn't want to do this that much.” he commented absently, peering at Samandriel – or more accurately, the angry red-black-gray cloud surrounding him. The red flashed brighter for an instant, the words _damn fucking right I didn't_ scrawled in harsh letters over his stomach. I winced.

  
  


“Well then, Samandriel.” Dean made a sharp motion with his hand, and the streams of light untangled themselves and seeped back into our bodies. I gasped at the sudden hollowness, a low whine working its way out of my throat. Dean merely raised an amused eyebrow in my direction before turning back to face my brother. “Since you're so angry, why don't I let you work your brother over first?”

  
  


-_-

  
  


“Oh my God.” Charlie slammed a hand over her mouth, glancing between us. “He really made you...”

  
  


“Yeah. Not like we can really blame him, and it wasn't anything worse than we'd done before.” Samandriel said. “Let's skip a bit?”

  
  


I nodded, mentally fastforwarding.

  
  


-_-

  
  


Blade coming down, over and over, our faces soaked in blood that won't stop pouring -

  
  


_skip_

  
  


Vomiting from the pain, bile and swallowed blood and what might have been a few teeth painting the floor. Dean looks at it so disappasionately, just says, _eat it_ but _I can't, I can't move,_ and so he says to Samandriel _feed it to-_

  
  


_skip_

  
  


My turn on Samandriel now, crying, I know I shouldn't be crying because _he_ didn't but he always was stronger and the first bone cracks so loudly-

  
  


_skip_

  
  


Not touching us, not at first, playing with boredom and time, seeing how long it will take before we can't take it any more and scream just until he opens the bond, hurts us,  _something -_

  
  


_skip_

  
  


Finally hurting us himself but from a distance. Cuts into a clay doll and we watch the parts fall off our own bodies, smell the burning of flesh when it's just a red hot poker in a mannequin-

  
  


_skip_

  
  


Pain but up close now, still not touching. Can't remember last time I touched someone. Wonder who told him that it was essential, that we needed to have the contact or we'd start to go mad. Hadn't ever gone so long without touching Samandriel, without the bond open-

  
  


_skip_

  
  


He thinks we've learned our lesson now or close enough, can probably see the green thread of hope gone from our bond. It has been, has been for a while now. He pushes into Samandriel slow and hard and dry and I stare daggers into the side of his head because it would _figure_ he'd touch my brother first.

  
  


_Skip_

  
  


Days and he still hasn't touched me. I'm starting to get really pissed that the bond isn't even open enough for me to feel secondhand.

  
  


_Skip_

  
  


Anger's gone now. Just numb. Tired. He touches me and it feels so wonderful that it isn't until he's mouthing at my neck and I'm grasping his upper arm with my hand that I remember what I was supposed to do.

  
  


That little green thread of hope grows and I chant under my breath and maybe he thinks I'm swearing because he doesn't move. And then – then -

  
  


-_-

  
  


“It hurt.” I cough a little, looking away from Charlie and Samandriel. “Hurt a lot.”

  
  


“So that handprint on his upper arm-” Charlie started, before I cut her off.

  
  


“What?!” I half shout.

  
  


“Hey. Hey, calm down.” Samandriel whispers, and I hadn't even realized I was trying to stand until right then.

  
  


“But – it.” I close my eyes and relax into my twin.

  
  


It wasn't supposed to leave a mark, not anywhere but his soul. He was supposed to be able to come back, able to come back without the smallest reminder of where he'd been. Of what he'd done, become.

  
  


“Holy shit.” Charlie said, jumping when her stomach growled. She glanced at the clock, raising her eyebrows before she repeated the sentiment. “Holy _shit._ It's like five o'clock. You guys wanna stay for dinner?”  
  
The word dug at something in the corner of my head, and I frowned. Dinner, why did that sound -

  
  


“Lucifer!” I half yelled, and then Samandriel and I were sprinting back home.

  
  


We banged in through the front door, because technically dinner wasn't until like five thirty and we were still in the clear-

  
  


“Hello Cassiel, Samandriel. Please, Anael was just setting the table, sit down.”

  
  


 


	9. Chapter 9

Eating dinner with Michael and Lucifer was tense, to say the _very_ least.

Lucifer was shirtless, sitting stiffly and carefully keeping his back from touching anything but air. Everyone but Anna practically _inhaled_ their food, Gabe and me inspecting Luc's body carefully the second we were done.

“Holy _shit_ , Luc.” Gabriel said.

I'd never seen him come in looking this bad, and I'd seen some... Luc had worked for some very – _intense_ people. People with very specific tastes, very _expensive_ tastes.

“Pants. Off.” I commanded, and Luc huffed but complied. He let out a tiny, involuntary gasp when he went to unbotton his jeans, body freezing up. His back was practically ripped apart, so I couldn't blame him.

“I'll do it.” Gabe said before raising his voice to catch Anna's attention, his hands already stripping Luc with practiced ease. “Anna! Will you grab the medical kit from the closet?”

Anna, who had been washing dishes, walked in with the duffel bag. The second she saw Luc, something in her eyes clicked and – yes. There was my sister. I was surprised she'd come back so soon, actually. Maybe she was starting to grow out of it too, maybe someday she'd grow out of it all the way. I really hoped so.

“I – Luc, you _idiot._ ” and there was no hint in her words of the scared little catholic girl she'd been not so long ago, and I didn't really believe in God much anymore but I thanked him anyways.

“Was it just – or was there video work too?” I asked, grabbing sanitary wipes and ignoring the hiss of pain as I began to carefully clear the blood and grime from his back.

“Both.” he said grimly.

“Good money then, at least.” Gabriel said. “Are you okay to lay down on the table?”

Lucifer seemed to consider this for a minute before finally nodding. “My front isn't that bad.”

We had the table cleared and towels laid down in record time, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Samandriel watching with raised eyebrows. I just shrugged at him, and he made a 'our life is fucking _weird'_ sort of face at me. I snorted and shook my head before figuring out what would need stitches.

“Is that – shit, there's _glass_ in the cuts, Jesus H. Christ what the _fuck_ Luc?” Anna demanded.

“ _Really_ good money.” Luc emphasized. “We'll be ranking in the royalties of the film for quite a while.”

“We get enough from your other stuff already.” I muttered, holding out a hand for tweezers. Me and Gabe started picking it out, and I winced sympathetically.

“Luc, I'm gonna check out your...” Anna trailed off and made some vague hand gestures that Luc had no way of seeing.

“Just do it.” Lucifer said and fuck, but he sounded _exhausted._ He'd been gone for the last couple of days, and God only knew how much of that was him working.

“ _Fuck._ Luc, we don't need the money that fucking bad.” Anna said, and I grimaced when I glanced down there. We might need to take him to a hospital.

“No hospitals.” Luc said, because apparently now he could read minds. “They did give me some morphine before I left.”

Gabriel nodded, set his tweezers down, and carefully gave Luc the morphine. About two minutes later, his body practically melted into the table.

“I'm still gonna have words with you, Castiel.” he said, and I cringed, dropping the last of the bloody shards onto a paper towel.

“I know.”

Time passed in a wash of stitches and bandaging, Lucifer fighting unconsciousness. I'd honestly forgotten that Michael was there – I'd been sort of busy, what with my brother bleeding all over the table and all. But he was sort of hard to ignore when there was nothing left to work on, and he kept clearing his throat like that.

“Just fucking spit it out before you choke on it.” Luc said, words hard even when they slurred around the edges from pain and exhaustion.

“I would like to speak with Lucifer alone.” Michael announced, ignoring the disbelieving looks from everyone in the room.

Lucifer closed his eyes, listening to something only he could hear. “Sure. Samandriel, Castiel, I _will_ deal with you later.”

“Yessir.” I grabbed Samandriel's hand as I spoke, already dragging him up the stairs.

“Nice to see you again, brother.” Samandriel called, glaring over his shoulder at Michael who curled in on himself guiltily at the words.

Uh, _weird_.

Then it was only a few steps down the hallway and we were in my room and safe, door locked behind me. I slumped against the wood, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath of air that didn't smell like blood and disinfectant.

I opened my eyes to Samandriel's blank face. The expression only made the cold fury that filled the air between us even harsher, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding when he tugged me to him. His fingers threaded in my hair and my arms wrapped around his waist, it was easier to breathe.

“Hey, did you read Game of Thrones?” Samandriel said into my neck.

“No.”

“Good, I want to watch the show with you.”

“Right now?”

“Or we could kill Michael, but that's generally discouraged behavior.”

I sighed. “I'd prefer not to murder anyone on my birthday. We can kill him tomorrow on your's, if he's still around.”

“Deal.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is really short, and I apologize. I've been struggling with my depression really badly lately, and this is what I have. I'm switching to the third person next chapter, which is part of why this is so short. Also, I'm sorry for how messed up the story was before, I went through and edited and realized that somehow a chapter was missing and names were wrong and it was just - uh, anyways. hope you enjoy.


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